The man me mother married had a figure like a prince,
If it really was the Da, he’s changed a good deal since.
His chest has slipped a little bit,
His feet are kinda flat,
And where he used to bulge wid muscle,
He bulges now wid fat!

The man me mother married used to send her Valentines
And lovely little poems, she still remembers lines
Full of gentleness and sweetness,
The words, they nearly sing,
But the Da sez “Aw good sufferin’ duck”
If you mention such a thing.

Growing up in the Purcell household was, I now realise, very different to others, one reason being Dad’s changes of appearances for various roles. He is probably most well-known around the world for his magnificent beard, seen in movies shot all over the world, in various shapes and sizes, but of course, one could not have a beard, dress in drag and play the Dame in a panto!

So it was quite an adjustment to see Dad with his beard leave one day and come home days, weeks or even months later with no beard. Also, of course, when it happened in reverse.

It would sometimes take two or three days to finally accept that this geezer kissing Mum was the one and the same Da who’d gone off somewhere to do something.

I remember some occasions when he was growing a beard, because he used to rub his bristles up my face, which tickled.

He was very loving in many ways, although, having grown up in the 1900s, he was not one to say to any of us, “I Love You, Son”. For all that Edwardian reticence, he used to be so patient when at home learning his lines and putting up with our little grabs for attention.

We had a cat, which had been part of a troupe of 10 performing moggies until their owner died and the cast of the show took them home so they wouldn’t be put down. The cats, all jet black, were named from Penny up to Tenpence. We got Tuppence and he lived with us for many years.

Dad had a favourite chair for learning his lines and many days he would sit there with his tea, cigarettes and script, muttering away to himself, inflecting this way and that. He would sit with his long legs crossed, so Tuppence and I, not at the same time, of course, would hop up into Dad’s lap through the hole and sit quietly as he did his work.

When Dad was at home, he was great at taking whatever children were there out with him when going shopping for something. He was brilliant, with his carpentry skills, at home improvements. I remember going with him to Ringsend Docks, where the Hammond Lane Foundry was breaking up a ship for scrap.

I don’t know how, but I remember the ship was the ‘Queen Elizabeth’. I was flabbergasted that it was so small after hearing about this huge liner. Turns out this was an old Paddle steamer of the same name, from Scotland I think.

Anyway, Dad was there for the ship’s crew bunks. We were in quite a small house at 2 Newbridge Drive and there were Dad, Mum, Granny Marmion, Michael, Glynn and myself with Victor just born living in it.

So Dad had the idea of getting bunks for the four boys, so we could all sleep in one room. He got the bunks and, using his cabinet making skills, modified them so we all had our own. The bunks had drawers underneath for all our clothes and toys, beautifully finished. I wonder whatever happened to them.

On left: A beard-less Noel Purcell, pictured in his dressing room at the Theatre Royal about 1940, prepares to play the Dame in pantomime.